Reviewed: Everything I Read in March

Spring is here at last—and hasn’t it been gorgeous? I’ve been spending more time outside, soaking up the sunshine and puttering in the garden. By “puttering,” I mean taking care not to rush or overdo it. That takes a surprising amount of intention—whenever my mind slips into autopilot, I tend to speed up and push too far.
With that in mind, I’ve chosen to keep audiobooks out of my ears and let that time be quiet instead. I’m moving at a slower pace, thinking more, and enjoying it immensely.
As for reading, it was a middle-of-the-road month. I DNF’d a couple that my brain simply refused to engage with, but overall I enjoyed most of what I picked up. Here’s the list!
I remember reading this book as a little girl, fawning over every detail. I pictured myself as Mary Lennox—a task that didn’t require too much stretching of the imagination, as I was very curious and a little bit bossy, too—and used my own imagination to carry the story beyond its ending. That memory has stayed with me all these years.
One of the pieces of my 2026 Spring Curriculum is to revisit several of the children’s stories from the annals of my own past, along with a few classics I never read as a child. Listening to the first of these, The Secret Garden, was a warm and sweet experience—and it’s made me all the more excited to make my way through the rest of the list.
If you read my posts regularly, you might remember how excited I was to see this book inching closer to the top of my library holds list. I’m sorry to report that I ended up DNFing it at the 30% mark. I gave it a fair shake, but ultimately just didn’t connect with the story or the characters.
That said, this shouldn’t necessarily dissuade you from picking it up. I’m somewhat notorious for DNFing fantasy—fantastical creatures and storylines just aren’t usually my bag—but I still try them from time to time. It’s important to me to keep my reading life varied and my mind flexible, which means occasionally leaning into genres I don’t naturally gravitate toward.
Even though this one wasn’t a fit for me, it has thousands of glowing reviews and appeared on many of last year’s major “Best Of” lists.
This is an oddball story about a retired mailman whose life is derailed by a tragic event and who finds his way back to happiness on a road trip with his daughter, his recently adopted niece and nephew, and a remarkable cat who seems to possess superhuman intuition. At its heart, it’s a story about laying down the self-protective denials we place over life’s hardest moments and allowing reality to reshape the way we tell those stories. It’s also about taking the log out of your own eye so that you can see clearly to remove the speck from your neighbor’s.
As the title suggests, the story is full of tender moments. There are also difficult ones, unsavory ones, and plenty of humor—just like real life. I first heard about this book from Anne Bogel on the What Should I Read Next? podcast, who noted its eccentric elements but reassured listeners that it’s worth the journey.
Written in 1937 and often described as ahead of its time, this modern classic has been sitting on my TBR for nearly five years. I was reminded of it recently and decided it was finally time to read it. Here we meet Janie Mae Crawford, a young black woman raised by her aging grandmother. Early on, she is encouraged to marry for protection, but then leaves her life behind—first in pursuit of a lustful passion, and again later in favor of love.
To be completely honest, I didn’t enjoy this one, which surprised me. It reads like a gentler counterpart to The Color Purple, but I never felt immersed in this story. Instead, I felt kept at a distance, a bystander listening to Janie recount her life.
I DNF’d this book in 2023 but decided to give it another try after hearing it recommended on a podcast. I was quickly reminded of why I didn’t finish it the first time, but determined to persevere. Often, I find myself doing this—assuming there must be something excellent about a book with so many devoted readers.
This time, I do think I came to understand its appeal. The book reads like a diary, with the author reflecting on the changes in her backyard ecosystem over the course of a year. There is beautiful prose, cozy poetry, and a patient, unhurried tone. It's a kind of slow-living manifesto. Margaret invites readers to consider making space for nature study and for the care and keeping of the natural world.
For me, the difficulty was in the delivery. The book would have been a win for me had there not been mini-sermons stuffed into the nooks and crannies of its chapters. And the frequent use of liturgical language, which initially felt charming, began to feel more strategic as the book went on.
I think some of this may be inherent to the journal format—after all, a journal is a place to process and even to quietly rant. I also understand that, being written on the heels of the pandemic and a string of social disruptions, the author's mind was likely still heavy with those memories. But I wish she had shaped those opinions into separate essays rather than weaving them so tightly into these pages, which were packaged as a year-long nature observation. As it was, I felt routinely pulled away from the story and asked to examine her political views. For that reason, I didn't find it a pleasant reading experience.
While I didn’t love everything about the book, I really enjoyed cheering her on as she progressed, and learning from the many fascinating scientific studies she covered.
I appreciate how Casey described one epiphany: She describes how following her running protocols left her hungry, weak, and deprived—a sacrifice she thought necessary to be "in shape". But shifting to a weight-lifting protocol, she had to begin eating roughly 1,000 calories more per day than she had for many years as a runner. Despite her doubts, she trusted her weight-lifting community and ate more for months on end. Surprisingly, she didn’t gain weight. Casey marveled at this new reality and entered a chapter of life where she felt strong, satiated, and clear-headed. As she put it:
"It was as if I had been using a grocery sack as a purse for fifteen years and then someone handed me a Louis Vuitton bag."
And then a sad realization:
"I could have had the Louis Vuitton bag this whole time."
For most American women, I think that is a powerful proposition—a truth I’ve been reflecting on all month. Similar to Casey's experience, the psychological shift of focusing on putting in all the good things rather than taking out the bad has been profound for me: no deprivation, no rumination, no shame—only empowerment and gratitude. How I wish I could tell fifteen-year-old me this truth! Even if a reader takes away just that one idea, the book is worth it.
I changed my lifting routine after reading this book. With Casey’s encouragement, I stopped dragging my reluctant heels, added a few more plates to the bar, and went for it. So far, so good.
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Always fun to read your reviews and thoughts Sarah! The Comfort of Crows has been on my TBR since before its release, I just haven't made it a priority to read it. Do you think A Physical Education would be good on audio? If lifting is working for you, you might appreciate Dr Stacy Sims YouTube channel.
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